


Pendragon: The House of Pendragon

by ChuchiOtaku



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abandoned Ron Weasley, Angst, Arthurian mythology - Freeform, BAMF Ron Weasley, Canon Divergence - Post-Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Drama, Found Family, Gen, Minor Original Character(s), Non-Canon Relationship, Regulus Black Lives, Ron Weasley has Self-Esteem Issues, Ron Weasley-centric, Time Travel, platonic fluff, weasley family drama
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:54:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25028839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChuchiOtaku/pseuds/ChuchiOtaku
Summary: An unsung hero haunted by the loss of his brother's love. An overshadowed youth abandoned by everyone he ever loved.  Why the enigmatic Lady of the Lake chose these two as her new champions against the growing threat of the Dark Lord--or why she chose now, of all times, to do so--is beyond anyone's rhyme and reason.But the Lady does what she wants. All Ron Weasley and Regulus Black can do is hold on for the ride.AO3 Exclusive. Canon Divergence starting from GOF’s Parting of Ways. Inspired by Dragon’s Garrison by underdoglover and Harry Potter and the Deus Ex Machina by Karmic Acumen.
Comments: 95
Kudos: 250





	1. The Past and The Present

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve had this plot bunny in the back burner for a while now, and now it decides to write itself while I’m the middle of writing my other fanfics. Gosh, these fluffy nibblers of doom! 
> 
> Anyway, I’ll give this bunny a test run, see how it does. Do let me know what you think and whether I should expand on this storyline. 
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I don’t own the Harry Potter series. All rights go to J.K. Rowling. Peachy? Peachy!

****

**_A six-year-old Regulus tugs at his brother’s sleeves. “We’ll always be together, won’t we?”_ **

**_“’Course we will! See this,” Sirius gestured at the carved initials on a tree as old as time. “Siri and Regie, brothers forever!”_ **

**_A happy blush bloomed on Regulus’ round cheeks. “You’re the best big brother ever, Siri!”_ **

**_“I know, I know, but feel free to say it all the time.”_ **

**_“…Pig head.”_ **

**_Sirius’ blue eyes twinkled mischievously, his hands twitching excitedly. “Oh, is that how it’s gonna be, eh?”_ **

**_“W—wait, no, Siri, stop!” But Sirius was already onto him, poking at Regulus’ sides with energetic fervor. “I’m sorry, I’m—HAHAHA! SIRI, STOP! YOU—AHAHAHAHAH!”_ **

Even while alone, freezing and bleeding while murky water the taste of rotten flesh filled his lungs, Regulus Black’s thoughts still drifted to his estranged brother. It was both a source of comfort and heart-wrenching pain, that even after all this time, even after Sirius had in no uncertain terms cut ties with him and their family, Regulus could not help but think of the older Black brother during what will most likely be his final moments.

Bloody Drink of Despair’s doing is what this is.

 _To think Kreacher had to go through this because of that blasted Dark Lord. Bastard._ He choked on a bit of blood. _Kreacher will see to it that that vile abomination is destroyed. Dumbledore ought to be smart enough to find the rest. Wouldn't put it past Voldemort to make more than one if…_

**_“Siri! Siri, there you are!”_ **

**_Regulus had wanted to talk to his brother as soon as the Sorting had been over with, but he had been held up by the many introductions that had to be made in the Slytherin House. He may be a first year but he was also a scion of the Ancient and Noble House of Black, after all. And his mother emphasized on the importance of him creating connections among the Pureblood circles that Sirius failed to create due to his “erroneous” sorting._ **

**_But instead of the warm, mischievous brother who eagerly introduced Regulus to his friends and spoiled him with all the sweets on the trolley, the younger Black was greeted by a cool, rather standoffish Sirius. “Regulus?”_ **

**_The younger boy tried to chalk it off as Sirius not having a good morning (he never was a morning person) and began animatedly. “Hogwarts is amazing, Siri! You always said so in your letters, but seeing it in person is something else! And the Slytherin dorms looked so cool! The dungeons were a bit cold, yes, but—”_ **

**_“…What are you doing here?”_ **

**_Regulus blinked in confusion. “Huh? What do you mean?”_ **

**_“This is the Gryffindor table.”_ **

**_“And? Can’t I sit with my brother sometimes? You’re just three tables away.”_ **

**_Sirius’ eyes hardened. “Things aren’t that simple anymore, Regulus.”_ **

**_“What are you talking about?” The boy continued to stare at his brother incredulously. He paused to try to make sense of things but to no avail. “What’s that even supposed to—?”_ **

**_“Oy, Sirius, mate, who’s—?” A boy with wild black hair, hazel eyes and square glasses slides into view, a wide smile on his face until he saw Regulus. His expression then became formally polite, if not outrightly guarded. “Oh, hullo, Regulus. Did you need something?”_ **

**_“Hey, James. It’s nothing,” said Sirius. “Regulus here was just about to leave.”_ **

**_“N—No, but I just got here!” A bit of a crack entered Regulus’ voice, to his later embarrassment. “I’m not—"_ **

**_“Yes, Regulus.” Sirius cut him off sharply. “Yes, you are.”_ **

**_That was the first time Sirius had ever looked at him so coldly and dismissively, as if he were a stranger and not his brother. It was also the first time that Regulus felt something akin to bitterness for one James Fleamont Potter._ **

It was getting even harder to breathe, and the pain becoming even more intense despite not being able to feel his limbs anymore. Did he even still have limbs? 

But while his sense of physical pain was becoming duller by the second, the emotional torment brought on by the onslaught of memories became sharper, more acute and distinct. The Drink of Despair was really good at doing its job. Regulus wondered if it was Severus who brewed it. He couldn’t imagine anyone among the Death Eaters who could surpass his old friend in the art of making Potions.

He wondered if Severus would even care if their talk two nights before would be their last.

**_The night after the incident on the lake, Regulus chanced upon one of Sirius’ rarer times by himself. “Sirius! Sirius, I’m talking to you!”_ **

**_“Well too bad that I don’t have anything more to say to you!” Sirius snapped, seemingly determined to continue his stride forward. But Regulus would not be deterred so easily._ **

**_“What did Severus ever do to you? Why do you have to keep making his existence so miserable?”_ **

**_Sirius scoffed. “Don’t act as if Snivellus is the victim here! You think he never gave as good as he got?”_ **

**_“Only because you started it!”_ **

**_“Wow, really mature there, Regulus.”_ **

**_“You’re the one who’s still acting like a bloody child, Sirius Black!” Regulus shouted, his hands tightly fisted and trembling. “You’re almost sixteen, for Merlin’s sake, and you’re the Heir to the Black Family yet here you are fooling around with Potter and pulling pranks like a bunch of little misfits—!"_ **

**_As the younger brother expected, bringing up the Potter heir was what made Sirius skid into a stop and whirl around, facing Regulus in anger. “Leave James out of this!”_ **

**_“And why should I? He—he’s changed you! Encouraged your rebellious ideas! Turning you into everything that is not of Black family!”_ **

**_“No, he saved me, from turning into a bunch of bigoted pansies who think their shite doesn’t stink to kingdom come!” The fifth year let out a dark, bark-like laugh. “But you don’t see that, do you? You sweet little mummy’s boy, cut from the same Toujours Pur trashy cloth as his parents, the perfect little heir they always wanted—”_ **

**_Regulus’ face hardened. “Don’t talk about mum and dad like that!”_ **

**_“Well, boo hoo, Regie, because they were never mum and dad to me! Just like I’ll never be the perfect Black prince they think they can turn me into! But that’s all good for you, isn’t it? Once they burn me off the tree, you can be the heir you’ve always wanted to be!”_ **

**_“You know nothing—"_ **

**_“I KNOW BLOODY PLENTY, REGULUS! You’re already like the rest of them! Seen you hanging with their kind of crowd—Snape, Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle. Don’t think I don’t know how dirty your hands really are! Don’t think I don’t know which side you’re really on! You and your disgusting Pureblood supremacy crap!” Sirius hissed furiously. “Roll into that bigoted shite all you want, Regulus. Be as filthy as the whole bloody lot of the Black family. But if any of you get in my way, or hurt any of my own, I’ll rain hell down your all of you pig heads. Even you.”_ **

**_Sirius had turned from him then, already done with the discussion. But Regulus, in a fit of an angry, anguished storm, whipped out his wand._ **

**_“STUPEFY!”_ **

Merlin, it had been a stupid move. A bloody idiotic, moronic, so unlike him thing to do, but at that moment, Regulus was not the perfect Black prince Sirius so believed he was. He wasn’t the wonderful, wonderful son Walburga Black so proudly praised.

He was a boy hurt, angry and betrayed by the one he adored and hoped for so much, and wanted the idiot to hurt as much as he did.

Yet the act of petty vengeance did nothing to stamp the hope from his heart, not that it would do any good for him now.

Regulus had given up for any chance of redemption a long time ago, since that time he took the Mark and joined his first Raid. Sirius was right, he was the same filthy piece of trash the rest of the Dark Lord’s subjects were. Being too cowardly to break from the fold is just as bad as being a willing participant to Voldemort’s insanity.

Regulus had been ready to die when he went into that cave with Kreacher, having made peace with himself and his fate. But it was only now that he acknowledged that he was also afraid. Not because he thought he could have more ahead of him—he was under no illusion that a traitorous Death Eater with blood on his hands could ever find a place to belong on either side—but because of regret. That one wish that he buried in the depths of his heart that was forcibly pulled to the surface by the Drink of Despair in all its agonizing glory.

**_“You’re leaving?”_ **

**_Sirius’ hand was halfway on the door when Regulus saw him from the second-floor landing. The house was noisy with the prattling of heavy downpour on the roof and windows, the occasional lightning illuminating Sirius’ pale face to make the bruises stand out of the older brother’s pale face._ **

**_The Black heir chuckled lowly. “And what? You’re going to stop me? Going for another cheap shot behind my back?”_ **

**_Regulus gripped the railing tighter. “You don’t have to leave.”_ **

**_That made Sirius snort. “For what? For this?” The sixteen-year-old faced the younger Black fully, in time for another flash of lightning to reveal the purples, blues and reds that littered most of Sirius’ handsome visage. “Don’t you get it? I’ll never become one of you. I’ll never be the good little Black boy you all want me to be. I’d say I’d rather die than let you change me, but I’m not going to sit around and let you kill me without a fight!”_ **

**_“…Where are you going?”_ **

**_Sirius scoffed. "Why do you care?"_ **

**_"At least let me know that it's a safe place." Although in reality, Regulus already knew--or at least had a strong feeling--where Sirius was headed. Not only was he close to the Potters, but that family was the epitome of everything against the Black family way. “You’re hardly of age, and we both know times are getting more dangerous than ever. Especially since you’re…”_ **

**_“On the wrong side? Stop pretending to care,as if I don’t know better.” The older Black said darkly. “Going to prattle me to dear old mummy, aren’t you , Reggie?”_ **

**_The Slytherin swore he heard something snap, like rubber stretched to its limits._ **

**_“Are you really that daft, Sirius?!” Exclaimed Regulus, his nails digging hard into the old wooden railing . “Have I ever, even once, prattled on you to mum? Do you think I’d go through all this bloody talking if I wanted to stop you? Instead of waking her up soon as I heard you out in the hallway, or, I don’t know, going for that bloody cheap shot? Just because you decided to stop being my brother doesn’t mean that I—!”_ **

**_Regulus pushed himself off with a sharp clinch of his jaw, turning away to wipe at his eyes. He wouldn’t give Sirius the pleasure of seeing him cry. The berk downstairs was no longer Siri, hadn’t been for a very long time._ **

**_“Get out.” He hissed, back still turned. “Before I change my mind and wake everyone up. Get out.”_ **

**_“Reg—”_ **

**_“I said, get out! You’ve already made your choice, haven’t you? What else are you waiting for? GO, YOU BLOODY DISGRACE OF A BLACK! GET THE FUCK OUT!”_ **

**_There was a crack of lighting, and a boom of thunder. Regulus didn’t need to turn around to know that a beat later, Sirius had already opened the door. The resulting break in the wards would wake the other Blacks up, then Grimmauld Place and the Pureblood circles will be in a social uproar due to the runaway Black family scion for days to come._ **

**_Soon, the perpetually responsible Pureblood prince Regulus will have to step up, smooth things over and prove to the world that the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black is as strong as ever while Orion hid his face in shame, Walburga wrote Howler after Howler to the Potters, and Sirius never came back._ **

**_But for now, retreating to his room while his mother screeched at the elves to find Sirius, Regulus would lie on his green and silver bed, hold onto an old, faded photo of Siri and Regi smiling next to carved words on a tree from long ago, and weep._ **

_I’m sorry, Siri._ Tears sprang from his eyes again, just like every other time he’d think of his brother these last few years. _If only I could see you…one last time. Potter and his friends…better be taking good care of you. Merlin knows you’ve always been so terrible at it. Better at taking care of others than yourself…I would know…_

Crimson and grey darkness was filling his vision as his body sank further and further into the water, a lump of flesh weighed down by growling, gnashing Inferni.

 _Siri…brother…_ Regulus closed his eyes. _Goodbye._

And in the murky, bloody darkness, suddenly, was a warm, piercing ray of light.

**Pendragon: The House of Pendragon**

**Rating:** T (swearing, mild to moderate violence, mature themes)

 **Genre:** Adventure, Fantasy with elements of Arthurian mythology, Drama, Angst, Family, Friendship

 **Pairings:** All canon pairings up to Book 4

 **Warnings:** May come off as Harry/Dumbledore/Hermione/Weasleys/insertsomeothercharacterhere bashing, but I assure you it’s not. Their actions and choices in this story are both plot- and character-driven given their circumstances, but it’s only fair to warn you that they might (will) come off as OOC. Expect it, given the events and themes of this series. Again, you’ve been warned.

The rain was especially cold today, a torrent of fat, icy drops soaking through his robes, skin and bones. But Ron, making his way through the empty grassy plains of Hogwarts grounds, didn’t mind the cold. He welcomed it, even. Anything is better than the avalanche of pain, grief and betrayal threatening to drown him completely.

Because how could they? _How bloody fucking hell almighty could they?!_

Hours before, when the day was still cloudy but dry, Ron and Hermione were on their way to see Harry at the Hospital Wing. Harry hadn’t had any severe injuries from the Tournament, but still had to stay in until Madame Pomfrey finally decides to give him a clean bill of health. Hermione had been fretting about that all the way from Gryffindor tower.

“It’s probably just Madame Pomfrey being careful.” Ron reasoned to her. “You know how she is, right? She’ll let Harry go any time now.”

“But what if there’s something they’re not telling us? What if Harry’s hurt more than what he’s letting on?”

Ron opened his mouth to refute the statement, but decided the better of it. Knowing Harry, he could try to downplay how injured he really was after that encounter with You-Know-Who. 

“Harry will be fine. Well, eventually. Besides, a few days in the Hospital Wing could do him some good,” said Ron. “Did you see how he is lately? The bloke looked like he couldn’t get a wink of decent sleep lately!”

Hermione’s glare told him plainly how she perceived that comment. “Of course he couldn’t! After seeing what happened to Cedric, how could any decent human being be able to? It’s because of PTSD, Ronald. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Nightmares and insomnia are some of its common manifestations.”

Trust Hermione to have read about practically anything under the sun, Ron smiled slightly at the thought before the idea of Harry having PTSD made it fall. He may be thick on some things, but he didn’t need to know what PTSD is to see that Diggory’s death and You-Know-Who’s resurrection were what was behind Harry being in the dumps. The red head knew he’d be too scared shitless to sleep if he had to witness all that. 

But he also knew that constantly pestering Harry to open up like what Hermione has been doing for the past two days will only make things worse. It had been a recurring scene for a while: Hermione coaxing Harry—with varying degrees of force behind each attempt—while explaining how it will be good for him, and Harry clamming up further and further until he would snap, making Hermione retreat in fear and leaving Ron to smooth things over with a joke or a diversion.

Ron knew Harry would open up to them in his own time, and he wasn’t right to force the issues with his best friend. Again, were he in Harry’s shoes, he wouldn’t want to be forced to talk about seeing how Diggory died in front of him.

“Let’s just be there for him, Hermione.” Ron suggested. “I don’t want him to blow up on us again, and you know it’s not going to help if he keeps doing it.”

But Hermione just frowned disapprovingly. “That’s what’s not helping, Ron! We can’t let Harry keep everything in! And we shouldn’t pretend that the problem doesn’t exist!”

“I’m not!”

“You’re sweeping the issue under the carpet! How is that any different?”

“Bloody hell, Hermione!” Ron could take on a good number of snipes and backtalking from his other best friend (and his may or may not be crush; that is a different story altogether) but implying that he didn’t care about Harry as much as he should be was a jab he won’t take lying down. He was...not a perfect friend, but never let it be said that Ron Weasley was an uncaring one. “I’m worried too, all right? But how is getting Harry all hissy and angry at us going to help him? Trust me, I have enough experience with my brothers to know that that will only make things worse! Or did you forget how he always took things whenever you tried to play mind mediwitch?”

Hermione’s cheeks went aflame behind her glower. “At least **_I_** was trying—”

“Yeah, and I’m telling you right now it’s not bloody working.” Ron saw the infirmary doorway from his periphery, and had never been more grateful to see the marble archway in his life. “Just drop it, Hermione. The last thing Harry needs is to see us fighting too.”

The bushy haired girl looked like she wanted to argue, but instead snapped her mouth shut and smoothed her face over before they ran into Madame Pomfrey, who pointed the way to Harry’s bed. The two were rather tense despite the smiles on their faces, but then their expressions simultaneously slackened to surprise when they reached Harry.

“Sirius? Professor Lupin? Professor Moody?” Ron was the first to acknowledge the men near Harry’s bed, with Sirius and Remus on Harry’s left, and Moody on the other side, near the headboard. “What are you doing here?”

Hermione took the opportunity to elbow his ribs hard. “Don’t be daft! Why wouldn’t they come see Harry? Sirius is his godfather, remember?”

Ron scowled. “I meant, shouldn’t they be out ‘gathering some old friends’ or something, like Dumbledore said?”

“Actually, Ron has a point,” cut Remus in gently. “We’ve already managed to gather some of those old friends back, but…” His eyes went to Harry. “There was something we needed to discuss before…”

The openly worried look on Remus’ face, and the warring anger and resignation in Sirius’ rang alarm bells in Ron’s head. The blank look on Harry’s own visage didn’t help matters either.

Hermione seemed to have noticed the tension in the cubicle that was far thicker than what was there between her and Ron earlier. “Professors? Is everything all right?”

“Just Remus, please. I am no longer your professor, after all.” Remus corrected. “And as for that, well…”

“We were in the middle of an important discussion with Potter here.” Moody spoke over the mild-mannered werewolf. “One that will be very important in the future of this war.”

“Oh.” Ron and Hermione traded uneasy glances. Ron honestly thought that calling it a war this early is too soon, but hey, what did he know compared to an experienced former auror who lived at the height of You-Know-Who’s first one?

“Yes, but it is good that you are both here. Will make things go faster.” Moody’s magical eye swiveled. “You, girl, Granger, right?”

“Y—yes, sir.” Hermione nodded quickly.

“Right. Come closer. I have things to discuss with you and Potter while you’re here.”

Ron waited for a few seconds before it was clear that Moody wasn’t going to say anything further. “What about me?”

Moody’s frown turned to him. “Eh? What about you? I just asked for the girl. Or do I have to spell it out that you’re not needed here?”

Ron felt his ears go hot while glaring at Moody. “The hell are you on about? If this is about Harry, then I’m not leaving!”

“Ron…” Remus winced.

“Harry’s my best friend too!” Yelled the red head. “If it’s something to do about his future and Hermione can help, why can’t I?”

But Moody stared him down, unfazed, before snorting. “Some friend you have been, far as I’ve heard.”

Ron sucked in a sharp breath before clenching his fists hard. “What’s that supposed to—?”

A hand then clamped onto Ron’s shoulder, and blue eyes met tired grey ones.

“Come on, Ron.” Sirius tilted his head to the door. “Let’s give them a mo, yeah?”

The expression in them was enough to kill the fight in the boy and revive the worry full force. This was the first time Ron had seen Sirius—who fought off dementors and lived off rats for Harry—look something close to defeated. It was enough to make him follow Sirius and Remus out wordlessly, trying to ignore how Harry’s blank face and continued silence was slowly unnerving him even more.

He should have realized that it was far worse than he thought it was.

He should have when Sirius turned to him with hands on either of his shoulders with eyes ablaze.

“Ron, I—” Sirius took a breath. “I know I don’t know you as well as I would like, but, but the few times I saw you, what I do know is that you’re a great kid. Sure, you made mistakes, but you’re a good friend. Harry’s lucky to have had you on his side for this long. And I mean it, I really do, no matter what anyone else says.”

“Err, thanks, Sirius?” Ron said unsurely, glancing at Remus for help. 

The sandy-haired man’s smile was somewhat sad. “It’s not, that is to say, we shouldn’t say anything about it just yet. But in light of what you’ve just heard, and what you’re bound to hear in the future, Sirius and I wanted you to hear what we really think.”

“...Is this about,” Ron swallowed. “What happened between Harry and me, at the start of the tournament?” Merlin, he’ll probably never get over how stupid he had been, to let his pettiness nearly destroy his friendship with Harry. Hermione had been frustrated on how Ron had, in her words, ‘let his unfounded jealousy get the better of him’; but it hadn’t been that simple. That time when Harry’s name burst out of the goblet, something in Ron had snapped. 

Suddenly, the weight of all the suppressed bitterness he had over being taken for granted, of being nothing more than a shadow, from absolute strangers to even his own family, came tumbling onto his shoulders all at once. And the thought that his best friend—the very one who he would have gone hell and back with and/or for—had done the same thing to him. Hadn’t trusted Ron enough to tell him of his plan to enter the tournament after Ron had always shared everything he had ever had with Harry…

Ron shook his head. “I know it was stupid of me now to think that Harry would ever risk his neck like that. I know I was a right prat just when he needed me most and I’m sorry! I...I know I have a lot to make up for because of that but ** _—_** ”

“It’s not that,” said Remus. “We’ve heard about what happened, yes, but Sirius and I don’t think that,” He swallowed. “It was just one moment, Ron. A moment of weakness and poor judgement. And we shouldn’t base the strength of a friendship on just a few moments of vulnerability and mistakes.”

“If that were the case, then James and Remus would have written me off after I led Snivellus to Moony.” Sirius shrugged. “Bastard may deserve it, but...that wasn’t the smartest idea I’ve had.”

Remus smiled in part exasperation and fondness at his best friend. “The point is, Ron, that, whatever happens today, we know that you’re a good kid. In fact, you have what it takes to be great.” He grasped Ron’s shoulder. “Nothing anyone says can change that. So don’t let it.”

Cold sweat went down Ron’s spine. “Why—why are you telling me this?”

It was then that Moody chose to exit the infirmary archway as if by apparition.

“Weasley.” Moody jerked his head to Harry’s direction. “Potter wants a word with you.”

Dread filled Ron’s chest, to the point of staring rather frantically at Sirius and Remus. For reassurance or for help, not even he was certain. But the way the two men’s comforting smiles looked forced did neither for him. So it was with measured steps that the youngest Weasley boy went, not knowing what he should expect.

Parting the curtains to Harry’s bed, he was taken aback by the sight of Hermione’s more frazzled than usual hair, tearstained face and puffy pink eyes, as well as the stony, angry expression on Harry.

“Err, hullo,” began Ron awkwardly. “Stupid question but, are you lot OK?”

He said it as gently as he could, but it still sent Hermione on another round of tears and made Harry’s fists clench on the blanket.

“Ron…” Harry’s voice cracked. “Ron, I...we need to talk.”

“Obviously. I’ve just had about enough with all this secretive nonsense. So would one of you tell me what the hell is going on?” He then pointed. “And what’s wrong with Hermione?”

Harry was about to answer when Hermione beat him to it. “Oh, Ron, it’s so horrible! I didn’t even think—! I can’t believe they’d—! It’s not fair that they’d ask us to do this!”

“Hermione,” Harry gave her shoulder a squeeze. “We already talked about—”

Hermione swatted his hand away with a harsh glare. “No, you were already coming to your decision! You didn’t even think of letting me have a say on this! You didn’t even want to listen to me!”

Harry scowled right back. “Don’t pin this on me alone, Hermione! You agreed with all the points!”

“I said I could see where they’re coming from, not that I agree with them! Just— _my God_ , _Harry!_ I can’t believe you’d do this! After everything we’ve been through!”

Ron’s jaw slackened in shock. While it wasn’t unprecedented, a fight between Harry and Hermione was as rare as Snape giving points to Gryffindor. Ron belatedly wondered if Harry felt this awkward and overwhelmed whenever he and Hermione had their rows.

“Still didn’t stop you from making your choice, did it?” Harry said so coldly it unnerved Ron even more. Never had Ron heard his best friend speak that way before. Though instead of backing down like she would whenever Harry became obviously angry, Hermione glared right back but hadn’t said another word.

That was when Ron had enough. “That’s it! Will you two just tell me what in Merlin’s name is it with everyone today?!”

“We all know a war is coming soon.” Harry explained. “With Voldemort back ** _—_** stop flinching, Ron! It’s just a bloody name! ** _—_** the Death Eaters will definitely waste no time starting one. They already showed us what they could do back at the World Cup. It’s only a matter of time until they strike.”

“We both figured as much.” Ron gestured to himself and Hermione. “It makes a whole lot of sense, and it’s obvious Dumbledore’s making some moves of his own. He won’t be gathering old friends, so to speak, for just a big, happy reunion, will he?”

The way Hermione beamed with pride at him made Ron feel a little better, but Harry’s flat tone put a quick damper on it. “Professor Moody’s told me about a meeting with the rest of those old friends, talked about how they’re going to prepare for the fighting. One of the things they talked about was...the people I associate with.”

It was at that moment that everything Sirius and Remus had been telling him made terrifying sense. “Is it about me?”

“Oh, Ron, they’re just being full of nonsense!” Hermione said almost hysterically, and the fact that she was saying this about adults, who she respected and looked up to as if they were the bloody Law, made Ron even more concerned. “They’re acting as if they’ve never been kids their whole lives! Not seeing the forest past the trees! Yes, you can be a lazy oaf and an insensitive prat at times, but you’re plenty smart and talented! I...I can understand why Moody and whoever else we don’t know would think you’re just your faults! But your family ** _—_** ”

“Hermione!” Harry said sharply, but it was too late. Ron’s eyes widened as the truth knocked the wind out of him. “My family?”

The bushy haired girl saw the way Ron paled visibly at the slip and hastily tried to backpedal. “M--maybe it’s not what it sounds like! It’s just hearsay, after all! They ** _—_** it’s impossible! Of course the Weasleys don’t think that about you! You’re family! They should know you better than anyone else!”

Except that Ron could see his family thinking exactly that. It was something that should have been so obvious that why it still surprised him somewhat is bloody ridiculous! Hadn’t his mother caring for him the least, his father never really seeing him and his siblings still seeing him as an immature, emotional wild child told him enough? Yet even then…

“...They said that because of the war, I’ll have to be more...selective of who I associate with.” Harry continued. “Means that I can only be around those who I trust with my life, and those who I know can fight the real fight.”

“And that’s not me?” Ron whispered thickly. “I’m not one of them?”

Harry laughed bitterly. “At first I _thought_ you were. But then the whole mess with the Triwizard Tournament happened, and you...what you did. Kind of puts things in perspective, really.”

The red haired boy felt his knees start to shake. “And my family agrees with you? All of them?”

Hermione hesitated before speaking when it looked like Harry didn’t want to answer the question. “Like what I said, it’s all just hearsay for us. It was Moody who said, well, they had a meeting about it. All the adults we know are there, even Bill and Charlie. But we don’t know for sure if that’s what they _really_ think! Or if Moody’s just generalizing or ** _—_** ”

_My family. My own family. They...they actually..._

“So that’s it then.” Ron’s voice sounded so hollow in his own ears. “You’re cutting me off, yeah? Like a rotting branch off a tree?”

Tears sprang on Hermione’s eyes again. “Oh Ron, it’s not like that.”

“It’s fine, Hermione. Makes a lot of sense, doesn’t it? I mean, who’d want this?” He raised both his arms up to either side. “This gangling, hot-headed mess who can’t even be counted on to stand with his mates when they need him most? I’d want to get rid of me too!”

“No, no, no, Ron, I—!” Hermione turned to her other best friend, clutching his arm in obvious desperation. “Harry, please, _please_ , don’t do this! I don’t care if Moody, the Weasleys or whoever else was in that bloody meeting think this is the right thing to do. But it’s Ron, Harry! Our friend! _Our best friend!_ ”

Ron’s blue eyes met Harry’s dead-looking green ones head on, and knew that the Boy-Who-Lived has made his choice.

“So I guess this is it then.” The Weasley marveled at how he was able to keep his voice together so well (albeit slightly off pitch). “I... It had been amazing while it lasted. Some of the best four years of my life. And…” He laughed. “Merlin, this sounds so sappy! Who died and turned me into a sodding girl?”

It showed just how much the whole situation upset Hermione when Ron didn’t get a rise from her for the last comment.

“So yeah. Yeah. Good luck to both of you. You’re the best friends I’ve ever had, really, outside of my family. I know I haven’t been as good a friend as you’ve been to me. But I tried, right?” Another laugh. 

“Ron…”

“It’s OK, Hermione, I get why you choose him.” Ron shrugged. “He’s the Chosen One. The one who’ll beat You-Know-Who again and end this bloody wary, hopefully before it’s ever really began. What else am I other than being his best friend? Or at least, his ex-best friend.”

Hermione and even Harry flinched violently at those words but Ron’s back was already turned on them. “Right, so take care and fight a good one. Be seeing you around.”

“Ron.”

The slightest sliver of emotion in Harry’s voice made Ron’s feet stop. So much feeling behind that word that it nearly broke Ron right there and then.

But the older boy kept his head high and his back turned. “For what it’s worth, I am sorry.”

“Ron—”

“Goodbye, Harry.”

He ran off before Harry or Hermione could say anything else; running past Moody, Sirius and Remus; running to get away from the reality that his world has been torn asunder to its very foundation.

Because how could they? How bloody could they?!

His best friends, especially Harry, he could understand. He’d go as far as to say he deserved that from his best ** _—_** the Boy Who Lived. But his own family? How could they do this to him ** _—_** cast him aside and destroy what little self-esteem he had to begin with? To force out all of his worst fears into reality all at the same time?

 _Maybe Hermione’s right. Maybe it’s not as bad as I think it is._ Ron tried to console himself. _Maybe Moody blew everything out of proportion, the heartless berk._

_Or maybe they’re just saying out loud, what they’ve always known for a long time._

The twins certainly didn’t keep their disdain for him a secret, what with them pranking and humiliating him every chance they got. His mother, too, made it clear with all but words that we was the forgotten Weasley son, who could never compare to his older brothers and to the beloved daughter with the way she seemed to care for him as a mere obligation. 

Hermione said Bill and Charlie were there. Did they think of him that way too? He wasn’t as close with the oldest two brothers as he wished he were, but it hurt like hell to think that the two brothers he admired so much thought so little of him.

And what of his father, who always felt so kind and warm but in reality too distant? Of Percy, who had seemingly forgotten their secret adventures and the little moments of solidarity whenever the twins were particularly nasty? Of Ginny, who he tried so very hard to be a good big brother to despite all this shortcomings? 

Is there even a single one in his family who saw a bit of good in him? Did anyone in his family ever truly, genuinely loved him, not as an obligation because he was another Weasley, but because of who he really was?

_Why? Why? Why? Why?_

A part of Ron wanted to find out, to shout and scream at them, to rage and hurt at this shocking betrayal. But the part of him, that one controlling his every move right now, just wanted to run. Run far, far away because it hurts too damn much to be smacked in the face by the reality that all his worst fears were true.

_Least loved. Always overshadowed. Never wanted. Good for nothing. Worthless._

_Why? Why? Just why? **WHY?**_

Even as Ron’s foot hit some sort of snag, even as he fell headlong into a splash of cold water, even as the world was drowned out by the sound of sloshing waves and bubbling, the word continued to buzz in Ron’s head.

_Why...?_

But just before Ron’s vision was about to be completely swallowed by the dark, there was a flash of light, a star piercing through the inky wetness.

 ****

For so long, she had waited, restrained and frustrated. Watching as the magical world she helped create fall further and further. Having to see two Dark Lords rise and fall from power, further enabling dissidents to corrupt the system and magic itself was already too much. But to have to witness a third cycle? 

Her silence has gone long enough.

This broken world may have forgotten her legacy and that of her chosen, but she will make them remember how their wisdom opened their eyes to the wonder of magic, and how their sword built a glorious kingdom…

Glowing eyes smiled in the dark, at two figures from different times who have sank into the depths of her water and the lowest points of their lives. **_“Come, my champions.”_**

After centuries of waiting, their time has finally come.

**_“It is at our lowest point that we are open to the greatest change.”_**

**_-Aang (Avatar:Legend of Korra)  
_ **

Sooo what do you guys think? If you’ve read this far, thanks for your interest! Hoping to hear from you soon!

Additional Credits:

  * Border art licensed for personal use from [Publicdomainvectors.org](https://publicdomainvectors.org)




	2. At the Bottom of the Lake

**He really should have known.**

Last seen, least noticed, and an afterthought, at best. Nothing compared to the rest of his brilliant brothers. Not even worth comparing to his little sister, who his mother had always wanted. In hindsight, it should have been obvious that his family never saw him as anything other than nothing. 

But then he just had to hope that, over time, he too will be good enough. That he could become somebody worth a little bit of recognition, and maybe even a bit of respect, that he was more than just a piece of deadweight.

What a load of bullshite.

 _Is this how it’s going to end?_ Ron thought morosely as he sank further into the inky depths of the Great Lake. It was like jumping into liquid ice, the chill of the water sinking so deep into his bones that he actually felt more numb than freezing. 

Or was it because his body had already taken all the cold—all the pain—that it could handle?

Does it even matter anymore? Isn’t it better this way? It’s not like anyone would care if he ended up drowning in the lake. His family had all but abandoned him. Harry had ended their friendship, and Hermione chose Harry. 

_Face it, Ronald. Nobody needs you anymore. Hell, maybe nobody ever did to begin with,_ thought Ron. _Right. It’s better this way. With me gone, there’d be one less thing for them to worry about. It’s better this way._

His parent’s faces flashed before his eyes, followed by all of his siblings. He could picture them so clearly that it made his heart clench. Is this regret? For not being able to see them one last time? Set the record straight before he…?

Ron mentally slapped himself. What was he doing, still clinging onto a false hope like some delusional twit? And what difference would seeing them now make? How would confirming what had been the truth all along help anyone? 

_Sorry for never being good enough for any of you. I just wish you had the decency to tell me that to my face. It would have hurt a lot less, knowing the truth all along...than only knowing now that...I never even…_

But just when he had closed his eyes in surrender, a light so bright bloomed in the darkness of the water, past Ron’s shut eyelids.

“What the—?” Ron gasped in shock, his body spinning into what felt like an upright position instinctively. A few seconds later, he realized something equally surprising. “Wait, I can talk? Underwater?”

Though garbled and echoey in his ears, he was definitely hearing his voice and his throat was definitely making that sound. Odder still was that even while talking—or even breathing, for that matter—no water was entering his nose or mouth. It was almost as if he was above water, only he was floating in a wet, cold darkness.

What in Merlin’s name is going on? Even in magical standards, this was still rather bizarre. Was this a dream? Did he somehow knock himself out and imagined diving headfirst into the Great Lake? Maybe it was because he fell into the lake that he got knocked out in the first place. 

**“Champion.”**

A voice, ringing clear as a bell, soft yet firm, and radiating with such authority that Ron unconsciously stiffened. 

“Who’s there?” His hand immediately went for his wand—strangely dry, considering that he had just dived headfirst into the water—and looked around again. 

The bright light remained glowing in front of Ron like a large white sun, but not in any way uncomfortable. In fact, it was enticingly warm.

 **“Champion,”** called the voice that was definitely coming from that ball of light.

 _Champion? Who’s that supposed to be?_ That was when Ron felt a strong force drag his body closer to the underwater sun. _Bullocks! It can’t be talking about ME, can it?_

**“Indeed, my Champion.”**

Ron facefaulted. “You can read my mind?!”

**“I see and hear all Magic, and all of its vessels. I am It. It is I.”**

_...What was I supposed to get from that?!_

Now that he was closer to the light, Ron noticed that the voice was distinctly feminine, musical and lilt, but firm and radiating with power. It was how he’d imagine a younger McGongall would sound like.

He shook the distraction from his head. “But who are you? What are you? And why are you, _we_ , here at the Great Lake? Is this still even the Great Lake?”

A soft chuckle. **“So full of questions, the young ones are. I have your answers, but why give you all, when you can find the others yourself?”**

“Err—”

**“This is your Great Lake, but for the time being, I made it my domain, as I can with all that has Magic, so that I may finally meet you, Champion.”**

“Champion,” echoed Ron. “You keep calling me that. What’s it even supposed to mean?”

**“From the moment of your conception, you have been marked for a destiny, when the world of Magic is on the brink of destructive discord wrought by its own corruption and cruelty, and the bound evil, on the verge of release, I will fulfill my promise.”**

The more whoever the light was spoke, the less sense it was making, at least for Ron. “Destructive discord? Bound evil? What’s all that got to do with me?”

**“I regret there is little time for us to speak. Were these ordinary circumstances, you both would have the strength to stay longer in my domain, despite the way you have arrived. However, the Sage was on the brink of death on his arrival, and has come a long way.”**

“The Sage?”

Another, though this time smaller, ball of light floated towards Ron, shaped like a luminescent bubble. Ron peered inside to find a young man, not much older than him, with inky black hair, smooth pale face and an aristocratic nose. He looked uninjured, but his robes looked so shabby and torn in so many places by wide, jagged holes that Ron was half-hesitant to find out what could have caused such damage.

**“Fifteen years. The time has finally come. Go forth, my Champions. The call of destiny is upon you. Seek me when you are ready.”**

“What do you mean seek you? And who even is this bloke? Can’t you say a bit—?” Suddenly Ron felt something warm in his right forearm. “Oi! What’s happening?”

**“The sign of my favor. May it lead you to where you must go. I will be waiting.”**

The white sun grew larger, bathing Ron and the man in the glowing bubble in its glow. "Woah, hang on a second—!"

**“Until then, little King.”**

“— _W_ _AIT!_ ”

But when Ron’s eyes shot open, he was no longer underwater. He was lying on his back near the shore of the Great Lake, soaked, gasping and bewildered. But on the bright side, at least it was no longer raining.

 _What the hell just happened?_ Ron ran a hand through his hair. _Was that all just a weird dream? Did I even fall down the Lake? And what about—?_

The boy jolted from the ground, frantically turning his head around. He then fell back when he saw to his left the man with him in the lake earlier, still unmoving but definitely alive.

 _Holy Merlin’s knotted breeches!_ Ron gasped in his mind. _It was real! That woman in the lake, everything that she said! Then that means…_

Ron quickly rolled his right arm’s robe and undershirt’s sleeves up, exposing the pale, freckled forearm underneath that was now marked by an intricate looking tattoo, glowing like translucent fiery ink on his skin.

 _The hell, it’s like I have my own version of the Dark Mark._ Ron grimaced. _No, I shouldn’t call it that. It...It doesn’t look anything nasty like it. Actually, it looks more like...a coat of arms?_

Before Ron could study the tattoo further, he heard a cough and a weak groan. He nearly forgot about the unconscious man next to him. _Shite! He needs help. We both need help. It’s bloody freezing! But where—? Who can help us?_

The recent memory of Harry ending their friendship sent a wave of despair through Ron for a moment, for who would want to help the Boy-Who-Lived’s disgraced former friend? But he quickly squashed the thought aside. Not now. Not when someone needed his help. But who can he turn to? Who can he call—?

_Call! That's it, of course!_ “Dobby! Dobby, please help me!”

For a second, the redhead thought that the elf wasn’t going to come—perhaps he knew about what happened between Ron and Harry after all—but then there was a pop, and Ron had never been so happy to see the elf in his life. 

“Wheezy!” Dobby shrieked in shock on seeing Ron and the other, unknown man. “Oh my, oh my, what is happened? And being who is this wizard?”

“I’ll explain later, Dobby. Right now, we need to get out of this cold,” said Ron. “Is there any place we can go where no one can find us?”

Dobby’s tennis ball eyes held Ron’s gaze thoughtfully before nodding. “I is knowing one place. The Come and Go Room. I is taking Wheezy and Wheezy’s friend there.”

“Come and Go Room? And no one will be able to find us there?”

“Not if you is not wanting to.”

Ron paused for a thoughtful second before nodding. “All right, I trust you, Dobby.”

The elf’s face visibly brightened. “Wheezy is too kind to Dobby, sir!”

And as the cheerful elf laid a hand on both Ron’s and the stranger’s arms, ready to side apparate, Ron glanced at the unconscious figure right next to him once more.

Was it him, or did the young man look...familiar somehow?  
  


****

**_“Champion.”_ **

_The sound of water filling his ears, creeping over his body like frozen tendrils…._

**_“Sage.”_ **

_A voice, soft yet strong. A light, drowning out the dark and the cold…._

**_“You cannot remain here.”_ **

_Something gripping his left forearm, bathing it in warmth, burning and comforting..._

**_“Come, we must depart.”_ **

_“Wh...what? Who…?”_

**_“The King is waiting. It is time."_**

_The feeling of waves rushing past. The wind whipping his face and hair. The humming energy pulsing against his skin…._

**_“Awaken, young Sage.”_ **

**By the time Regulus came to, his whole skull was pounding so much it felt like someone had been beating it for years on end.**

Not to mention that he felt so hot and close to throwing up. 

_If this is what the afterlife is really like, then it’s not all it’s cracked up to be._ The younger Black brother groaned, his eyes still shut. _Or maybe it’s because I’m in Hell? Imagine that, Siri, you were right: hell is real, and there is a special place here reserved just for me._

Maybe it was the pain and the feeling of just being sick, but the mere thought of his brother was enough to make his eyes wet and to clog his throat with a need to sob.

_Great, just what I need. Haven’t I had enough misery to last a lifetime? Wait, I’m dead. Fucking shite, does the misery I got while I was still alive not count?_

“Oi, I think he’s awake!”

There was a rustle and a high pitch voice so squeaky he couldn’t be bothered to process it for now. Sounded like a House Elf though. Ah, that made him think of Kreacher. He hoped his old friend managed to destroy that locket and stay out of Voldemort’s sight. Hopefully, Sirius will let Kreacher stay in Grimmauld after becoming the next Lord Black. He had arranged for his brother to be quietly reinstated as the heir in the event of his death shortly before Kreacher took him to that cave. He didn’t like the idea of leaving Kreacher tied to a house reeking with Dark Magic for too long without a Master to ground him, what with Orion, weakened by a sudden critical brain disease, could no longer fully take that responsibility. Or worse, for that grounding force to be the unstable Walburga...

“—coming to! Hey! Hey, you, come on, wake up—” 

_No, you devils, I bloody will not. You have the rest of eternity to torment me for how I stupidly lived my life. Let me have these last few seconds before then._

“—maybe Wheezy should be leaving him for a—”

“—give you your potions if you don’t wake up, whoever you are—!”

 _Potions? I’m dead. Why would I need—?_ It then hit him. 

When the Black opened his grey eyes, he saw before him the strangest sight: a tall, thin boy with shocking bright red hair, and a house elf wearing a Hogwarts tea towel, both looking at him expectantly and curiously. He also noticed that he was lying on something soft, like maybe a bed or a couch, and behind the boy, he could make out a cheerfully crackling fireplace.

Regulus choked in disbelief, “I’m...alive?”

The red haired boy snorted. “Obviously. Unless you can somehow run a fever in the afterlife.”

“I thought I was burning in hell.”

“Right pleasant bloke, you are.” The boy answered smoothly before handing him a vial. “This ought to help with that.”

Regulus eyed the vial of red and violet liquid “A Pepper-Up potion?”

“And then a fever reducing potion. Looks like you’re coming down with a nasty cold because of all that water. Maybe. Dobby and I aren’t Healers. But we reckon a couple of potions is better than nothing.” 

“...Thank you.” Regulus said after drinking the potions, the combined heat of the Pepper-Up and the fever being reduced to bearable degree by the fever reducing potion. “Where are we?”

“Dobby,” The boy gestured at the House Elf standing on a bedside table, who bowed lowly, “calls this the Come and Go Room. Apparently, it’s a place that can turn into whatever you need it to be.”

“Come and Go Room…?” Regulus’ eyes widened. “You mean the Room of Requirement? We’re at Hogwarts?”

“Err, yeah, we are. You know about this room?”

“My friend showed it to me, in our third year.” It was one of the Hogwarts secrets Severus shared with him during their stay at school, where he and the Potions prodigy would spend hours locked inside brewing potions and practicing the new spells they learned or created. It had been a refuge for Regulus throughout his school years, especially with the Marauders becoming bolder to the point of borderline cruelty to the Slytherins. 

“Wheezy?” The House Elf Dobby spoke up. “Since your friend is awake, should Dobby be getting yous something to eat?”

The boy paused to consider. “Err, maybe in a little while. Not feeling very hungry yet. What about you?”

It took Regulus a second to register that the redhead was talking to him. “Oh, I don’t think I can keep anything down yet. Maybe later.”

“Right. Is it OK if we call for you again, Dobby?”

The House Elf nodded brightly. “Oh yes, of course, Wheezy! You is calling Dobby anytime, and Dobby will come! You toos, Wheezy’s friend.”

The young Black could not help but smile. “Thank you, Dobby. I truly appreciate it.”

“...Wheezy and Wheezy's friend, so good to Dobby!” The chirpy House Elf bowed at Regulus with a beaming grin, much like how Kreacher used to do back at home, before disappearing with a pop.

Regulus then turned to the other boy in the room. “I take it you’re a Hogwarts student too? Fourth or fifth year, I assume?”

“Fourth. Well, not for long. It’s almost the end of the year.”

The older boy noted his companion’s appearance: red hair, freckles, gangly. “Are you a Prewett?”

“Related to them, from my Mu—mother’s side.” Regulus frowned when he noticed the boy’s eyes dim and his entire visage droop at the mention of his mother. But it only lasted for two seconds. “I’m Ron, by the way. Ron Weasley.”

“Weasley?” Regulus repeated in confusion. “I don’t recall having a Weasley around while I was at school.”

“I don’t remember seeing you around either, though to be fair,I don’t see much of the older year. What House are you from?”

Regulus hesitated. “Slytherin.”

Five seconds ticked by before Ron spoke. “What? Really?”

The Black scion’s brows twitched. “Will that be a problem?”

“Yeah, I mean, no, not—err, I just wouldn’t have guessed! You—you’re not like the usual Slytherins I run into.” Ron sounded like he was genuinely surprised. “You were nice to Dobby, for one thing. I’ve never seen anyone do that, other than—” He cleared his throat awkwardly.

“You’re Gryffindor, aren’t you?”

Ron blinked. “Is it obvious?”

“Given your violent reaction to me being a Slytheirn earlier, I had a good guess. Admittedly, your outburst is more...restrained, than what I am accustomed to.” 

“Meaning?”

“You haven’t backed off with a wand to my face.”

Ron scoffed. “OK, I’ll admit, I don’t like Slytherins, especially idiots like Malfoy. But even I won’t go throwing around hexes first. Especially not on someone I went through all this trouble to help.”

“Malfoy? You mean Lucius?”

The other boy shook his head. “No. Well, I don’t like him either, but I was thinking of Draco Malfoy, his son.”

 _Draco Malfoy._ Other than it being another constellation, the name doesn’t ring a bell in Regulus’ head. “Lucius is a father? Since when?”

Ron visibly started at the question. “Since fourteen years ago?”

“Fourteen years—?” Regulus inhaled sharply. “Then what date is it today?”

“24th of June, 1995.” 

The shock made Regulus jump out of where he was lying on (which his mind belatedly confirmed that it was indeed a couch.) “1995?!” 

“Oi!” Ron had immediately gone up to steady Regulus, who had started gasping and coughing because of the forceful motion. “Don’t jump like that all of a sudden! You just made your coughing worse!”

“But that’s not possible! It can’t be—!” The Slytherin ineloquently stammered in shock and confusion. “It was 1979 when I fell into that lake! All things considered, I should have—the Inferni, they—I’m supposed to be dead! Why am I not dead?”

“Lake? Inferni? 1979?”

“Alive and in the bloody future? This—this is beyond—! This should not have been possible! Even if there are theories of magical suspension, long term time travel—!” Regulus pulled at his hair. “How is this even possible? Who can have the power to even make it happen? Is any of this even _real?_ ”

“Stop pulling at your hair, will you? Merlin, you want to be feverish _and_ bald? How do I even—? Wait, what’s that?” A rustle, the sound of crumpling paper, then, “Oi, what about this? Look!”

A broad leaflet was shoved into Regulus’ view, making the man squint. _The Daily Prophet? 24 June 1995?_

Sitting up straighter, Regulus held the paper up, skimming through its pages.

**_You-Know-Who is Back? Rubbish! Claims Minister Fudge._ **

**_The Parting of Ways: Dumbledore’s Credibility on the Line_ **

**_Cedric Diggory’s murder, the work of Death Eaters?_ **

**_Harry Potter wins the Triwizard Tournament, but at what cost?_ **

_Voldemort is back? What does that even mean? And Fudge is Minister now, that spineless buffoon! Crouch Sr. would have been a better choice, although saying that’s a huge stretch. Cedric Diggory? Harry Potter?_ Looking at the boys’ photos, Regulus could already guess who their parents were. _Right. Severus mentioned that Evans and Potter got married soon after graduation, and Sirius was best man. Siri, I wonder how he’s…_ A small clip at the right hand column of the last page caught his eyes. 

**_Black Still At Large._ **

_Black at large? Which Black are they talking about?_ Regulus felt a chill in his gut as he took a closer look at the article. 

_Known Death Eater Sirius Black, responsible for the deaths of the Potters and the massacre of the twelve muggles in 1981, still at large after escaping Azkaban—_

_“AZKABAN?! SIRIUS WAS IN AZKABAN?! OVER BEING A DEATH EATER?!”_ Regulus roared, harshly throwing the paper to the floor. “What the fuck are these idiots playing at?! Sirius would never turn to the Dark Lo— Voldemort! He’d rather take a Crucio to the face than even—!”

Ron exhaled. “Merlin, just about everything is setting you off, isn’t it? And how do you know Sirius Black?” The boy then let out a yelp when Regulus’ hands went to his shoulders with surprising strength. But before Regulus could speak, a bright light flooded his vision, followed by a barrage of images…

**_“AAAH!” A huge black dog, dragging a screaming Ron away by the leg. “Help! Harry! HARRY!”_ **

**_Ron, on a broken leg, standing defiantly in front of a boy with unruly black hair and piercing green eyes. “If you want to kill Harry, you’ll have to kill us too!”_ **

**_“Snuffles must really love you, Harry. Can you imagine, living off of rats?”_ **

**_Hands grasping either of Ron’s shoulders, a familiar, gaunt face with gloomy grey eyes. “Ron...everyone makes mistakes...you’re a great kid. And I mean it...no matter what anyone else says…”_ **

Regulus shook his head, gasping as soon as the last of the images left his head. _Bloody hell, what was that? That man with Ron...was that…? No, no that can’t be Siri! That waif of a man who looks more like a ghost than a human...God, please, that_ **_can’t_ ** _be my brother..._

“—asked you a question! OI! _SNAP OUT OF IT!_ ”

It took Regulus a few more seconds to remember that he had Ron under his grip, and the very question he wanted to ask the boy. “...You know Sirius?” 

Ron’s eyes however narrowed into something quite protective. “I asked first. How do you know Sirius Black? And why did you call You-Know-Who the Dark—?” 

The Black scion’s eyes widened. _...Shite, did I?_ “I...I didn’t mean…”

The protective anger turned into wary fury tinged with fear as Ron roughly pushed Regulus off, backing away slowly, wand on hand. “You have got to be shitting me! Are you one of the Death Eaters?!”

“What—? No! I’m not! I mean, I was but…” Regulus slumped back onto the couch, feeling exhausted in more ways than one. “Fucking hell, Merlin, this is beyond complicated...”

“Just answer the bloody question,” snapped Ron. “Are you or are you not a Death Eater?!”

“ **_I JUST SAID NO!_ ** I admit, I used to be, and that was a mistake! The worst mistake of my life, but no more! Not anymore! Not for that monster! Not for them! Never again! Never... ” Regulus would later blame the fever, the shock, and the strangeness of his reality after his fifteen year hiatus for him suddenly burying his head in his hands into a fit of sobs. How long had it been since he cried and let out his feelings like this? A part of him suspected it was only a matter of time, when his playing pretend with the noble houses, the death eaters and his own family would cause him to break to the point of no return. 

Yet why did it have to be this way? Why in front of someone he barely knew? And a Gryffindor of all people?

But the dam had finally broken, and he could no longer stop the torrent, washing away the pretense of the proper Black prince, and leaving sad, hurting little Reggie who wanted nothing more than the safety of his brother’s embrace.

“ _Please…_ ” He croaked. “I need to know...Sirius...he’s...he’s my brother, and he might be...I _need_ to…”

“Brother?” A bit of Ron’s threatening visage melted at that, although he hadn’t relaxed fully yet. “Sirius never said he had one. But, to be fair, we haven’t been around each other long enough to ask so…”

“He’d probably not tell you even if you had the time.” Regulus laughed bitterly. “Far as he’s concerned, the only brothers he has are his friends, the Marauders. Pettigrew. Lupin. And bloody perfect Potter. Wouldn’t want to have a Death Eater for a brother, would he? Didn’t even care that I didn’t have a bloody choice!”

“What are you—?”

“And what should I have done?” Snapped Regulus. “Our parents want one thing, he wants the exact opposite! Someone had to keep the family together but no one wants to meet the other halfway! And it’s my fault for trying? But what did I get in return?” He laughed again. “My father, on his deathbed. My mother, officially insane. And my brother, turning his back on me, on what we used to be, just because I wanted to save our family?! But as if you gave me another choice?! _You fucking left me first, Siri! What the bloody hell was I supposed to do, you bloody prat?!_ **_WHAT WAS I SUPPOSED TO DO?!_ **”

The silence in the room was near deafening and choking, and for a bit, Regulus entertained the thought that it would end his miserable existence, until...

“Here.” A glass of water was shoved into Regulus’ view. “Have this. Don’t need you getting any sicker after all that shouting.”

“W...what?”

Ron exhaled again. “It’s not poisoned or anything, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

 _Wouldn't have minded if it is._ Nevertheless, Regulus emptied the glass down his parched throat. “Thank you.”

Ron hesitated. “You sound like you had it rough, huh? Shite, I know it’s obvious, sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything. But…”

Regulus frowned. “…What are you still doing? By all accounts, you should have already tried to turn me in.”

“Depends. You still believe in You-Know-Who?”

“No,” said Regulus darkly. “That bastard is the foul megalomaniac who destroyed my family.” He then winced at the reminder of his near slip. “Dark Lord my arse. Some habits die hard, it seems.”

Ron shrugged. “I’d know. I still can’t call him by name no matter how many times Harry says I—” 

The other boy looked away with that same glum look in his eyes when he mentioned his mother. Reglus schooled the curiosity out of his face. “This Harry a friend of yours?”

“You don’t know—? Oh, right, of course you don’t,” sighed Ron. “Harry Potter’s the Boy-Who-Lived, the one who survived You-Know-Who’s Avada Kedavra as a baby because the spell backfired. I don’t know why either. And…” He bit his lip. “We’re...I’m not his friend anymore.”

 _So his Harry is THE Harry Potter?_ Regulus shook his head. What _are the odds?_ “Voldemort, beaten by a mere baby? If I hadn’t been through this time travelling shite, I would have said that was the most ridiculous thing I’ve heard. Although, I do relish in the irony of it.” The older teen then frowned. “Hang on. If Voldemort’s already dead, then why did the paper say—?”

“That he’s back? That’s because he is, according to Harry,” answered Ron. “It was during the Triwizard tournament—a sort of contest among champions from Hogwarts, Dumstrang and Beaubaxtons—when Harry was brought to You-Know-Who by a Death Eater’s portkey for some dark ritual. Not sure on the specifics, but I know Harry won’t lie about that, no matter what those idiots say.”

“So the Dar—Voldemort came back from the dead…” Regulus’ eyes widened in horror. _Oh no. Does that mean…?_ “He wasn’t able to destroy it?”

“Huh?”

“I...If I’m right, then I think I have an idea on how Voldemort escaped death.” Regulus whispered. “Maybe...maybe that’s why I’m still here. I haven’t...I haven’t completed my task…”

The way Ron’s eyes all but popped out of his head would have been comical if Regulus was in the mood for humor. “You—You know how—? Shite, are you serious?”

“No, that would be my brother.” Scratch that, maybe he was in the mood for a little bit.

“Hilarious.” Ron rolled his eyes. “Seriously—and don’t you _dare_ try that joke again!—if you really know how You-Know-Who came back from the dead, then this will change everything! We—we need to tell Harry and Professor Dumble—”

Regulus shook his head stiffly. “I can’t.”

“What? Why not?!”

“Believe me, I want Voldemort gone for good as much as all of you, but I can’t just waltz back out there as if I hadn’t been gone for fifteen years,” said Regulus. “And frankly speaking, I don’t trust Dumbledore or his pet Order, even if Sirius is still one of them.”

Ron blinked. “Pet Order?”

“Ah, right, it was supposed to be _'top secret.'_ ” Regulus said with air quotes. “That said, I don’t wish to waste my time explaining and proving myself to a lot who I myself don’t trust. I'll do my part in taking down that monster, of course, but I didn't break away from being the Dark Lord's pawn just to become someone else's.”

“You said you don’t trust Professor Dumbledore, but,” Ron cleared his throat. “Why are you telling me all this? Does that mean you…?”

Regulus raised a brow. “Depends. Are you going to tell on me?”

“I...I think I should. I mean I ought to, if it’ll help Harry out against the Death Eaters. But...” Ron gnawed his lower lip again. 

The following silence piqued the Black’s curiosity about his companion even more. “Did you have a falling out with Potter? Is he with the old man too?”

There was another long pause before Ron answered. “I guess you could say that. But it’s not just him. It’s…” He sighed again. “Complicated. But why don’t you trust Professor Dumbledore? He’s the one leading the fight against You-Know-Who, and he’s the only one that bastard’s afraid of.”

Regulus stopped to consider his words carefully. “It’s not that I don’t trust that he is against Voldemort or what the Death Eaters stand for. What I don’t trust him with is looking out for the insignificant players, those who can’t or won’t stay out of the fight, but are essentially not indispensable. Pawns, as I have said.”

Ron blanched. “Professor Dumbledore wouldn’t—”

“I am most certain he would. War calls for sacrifice, Ron, and even someone fighting for the so-called Light cannot hope to win without shedding a bit of blood on his side. And that’s fine, it’s bound to happen. But I’m a Slytherin, in case you forgot. If I am to sacrifice myself, I will do so on my terms. And I will make sure that no one hurts my own.” He thought of his brave, foolish brother, and his loyal, misunderstood House Elf. “Never again. But enough about me. What about you?”

“Huh?” Ron appeared oddly taken aback. “Me?”

“From what I can tell, it looks like you still don’t know what you’re going to do with whatever’s going on right now. I’d go as far as to say Potter, who will most likely be in the forefront of this mess, has cast you aside.”

“OI, HE DID NOT—!”

Regulus raised a challenging brow. “Didn’t he?”

Ron glared at his shoes. Regulus waited.

“...If I’m not with Dumbledore, and like hell I’ll go to You-Know-Who...then whose side am I supposed to be on?”

“The thing with you Gryffindors, is that you’re so bloody noble you forget that in a conflict there’s always one side you can count on.”

“And that’s?”

Regulus smirked. “Your own, of course.”

Ron eyed him sharply. “My own?”

“Why fight for someone else when you can fight for yourself? You can believe the same things the Light does, but you won’t have to agree with everything they say. You could even agree with some of the things the Death Eaters believe in.”

“I’m nothing like those—!”

“I’m not saying you are. But consider this, the Death Eater propaganda, like all things, started with good foundations,” explained Regulus. “Tradition. Honor. Power. Order. It’s only as you go further down the line do you start to see how whatever good the Death Eater ideology has gets twisted into an excuse for violence and having a superiority complex. 

“Perhaps it is rather old fashioned, but I find merit in honoring the tradition of our forefathers. It is because of the old ways that our kind remains protected from Muggle-kind threats. Not that I have anything against Muggles—hard to believe that may be—but they are not as innocent or helpless as Dumbledore wants you to think. Remember the World Wars?"

“World Wars?” Ron frowned. “Are those muggle wars?”

“On a global scale. But we digress. Look at it this way, then. If you have your own side, you don’t have to fight alongside Potter, Dumbledore, or anyone you don't want to. You don’t have to share anything you wish to keep to yourself, and you won’t have to do what they tell you either. Another good thing is that you won’t be able to limit yourself to just their viewpoint and potentially see the whole board. Be an actual player.”

“See the whole board…” Ron repeated. “Is that what you’re planning to do?”

“A traitor to the Death Eaters. Untrustworthy to the Light. And did I mention that I’m supposed to be dead?” Regulus shrugged. “So yes, more or less, I am on my own.”

“No, you’re not,” said Ron. “Maybe I should have said this earlier, but I didn’t run into you by accident. I...you’re right, Harry, he, he decided to end our friendship because he couldn’t trust me anymore. It’s my fault, though, I...anyway, I ended up falling into the lake, but then there was this...voice.”

“A voice?”

“When I fell down that lake, before I thought I was going to drown for sure, there was this voice. A female one. Then there was this big ball of light, big as the sun up close. She was the one who brought you floating to me.”

“I remember.” Regulus nodded as the memories fell back in place. “I heard her too. I was too far out of it to see her, but I felt her light. And then…” 

The memory of warmth on his inner left forearm, where the Dark Mark was, made Regulus inhale sharply.

 _The Mark!_ He pulled his robe sleeves upwards in a clumsy hurry, not caring if it was in the full view of a Gryffindor child, frantically searching for the cursed tattoo.

But it was no longer there.

Not even the throbbing dull pain usually caused by the Dark Mark remained on his skin. Instead of a skull and a snake, the drawing on his arm was that of a shield with two staves crossed behind it, while a snake entwined around a glowing open book in front of a magical pentagram was at its center. The drawing was done in what appeared to be glowing light blue ink.

Regulus felt his jaw slacken _(What in the name of Merlin?)_ at the same time Ron exclaimed, “You got one too!” 

The younger wizard rolled his own arm sleeve up—his right one—to show Regulus. On it was a tattoo that looked like it had been inked with orange fire, made up of a tower shield with two crossing swords at the back, and a simple golden crown with a banner on top of the shield. Inside the shield were what Regulus guessed were quadrupedal dragons standing up right, and in the middle was a ball with the same pentagram in Regulus’ mark at the center.

“They both look like coats of arms,” said Regulus. “But not from any families I am familiar with. But if I can take a guess, our marks may be connected.”

“How can you tell? They look different.”

“These.” Regulus pointed at the pentagrams. “And the fact that we got these from most likely the same person.”

Ron nodded. “She said we ought to find her when we’re ready. Wish she was more specific on how.”

Regulus eyed Ron for a moment before smiling ruefully. “...Well, it looks like we might be in the same boat after all.”

“I thought as much. But really, can’t it happen to someone else who can handle this better? I’m just me! I’m no Harry or Hermione! Hell, even my own family thinks I’m—!” 

Regulus’ gaze sharpened at those words. _Interesting._ _I think I’m starting to get the full picture…_

“All I’m saying is that I don’t know why that lady gave me this brand, kept calling me champion. You look like someone who can handle himself in a fight. I can’t even call You-Know-Who by—!”

“Then you’ll learn.” Regulus cut. “You’ll learn, you’ll fight and you’ll do it your way. And since I owe you anyway for saving me, I’ll help you.”

“Bullocks! You don’t owe me anything! That lady, she’s the one who—”

“Besides, didn’t you say she said we should find her when we’re ready? Don’t you want to know who this lady is?”

Ron frowned thoughtfully before saying, “It looks like we don’t have much of a choice, do we?”

Regulus chuckled. “You could at least try to sound a little less disheartened about it.”

“I’ve had a very-bad-turned-very-strange day. Can’t make me sound like anything but this way for a while.”

“Look on the bright side: it certainly can’t be worse than being torn into pieces by Inferni after having to relive your worst memories, can it?”

“... _What?_ ”

Regulus settled back onto the couch, his head pounding too much for him to stay up. “...I think it’s about time we called Dobby back. If we’re going to work together, we need to get each other up to speed—”

“—And since it will definitely take a while, we’ll need the food.”

The older wizard smirked. “I think you and I will get along just fine, Ron.”

“Like what I just said, Regulus,” Ron snorted with a smirk that was both cheeky and resigned. “Looks like we don’t have any other choice.”

**_Our History is not Our Destiny._ **

**_-Alan Cohen_ **

And thus, the Team R.B.W&R.A.B is born! Glorious!

So I haven’t updated in like forever. I’m so sorry about that. 

First off, the response for Pendragon is just overwhelming! During the first few days, I looked at the stats and thought, nah, it’s probably not going to click, then shelved the idea until I knew what to do with it. But lo and behold, the comments and the kudos came pouring in and I am just floored. 

Seriously, thank you so much! Now I hope I can live up to the hype of my new baby.

Hope you guys enjoyed this one, and a bit of snarky!Reg. I mean, this is the guy who smoothly dissed Voldemort via that note in the fake locket. Not to out of character for him to be a bit of a suave smartarse, I think. 

Additional Credits:

  * Border art licensed for personal use from [Publicdomainvectors.org](https://publicdomainvectors.org)




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